Broken
by Marrilyn
Summary: It's been days since she'd stopped resisting, finding it easier to let him satisfy his cravings than suffer the pain of trying to push him away. What the devil wants, the devil takes. Sometimes apologies aren't enough to fix what's broken. Post 12x02 AU.
1. I Still Remember the Smile When You Tore

**This chapter is named after the lyrics of Within Temptation's song Angels.**

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 **~ I Still Remember the Smile When You Tore Me Apart ~**

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"No."

She'd said it loud and clear.

"No!"

She'd said it enough to sear it into her brain. Enough to make it the only word she could hear herself think about, hour upon hour, day upon day.

 _No._

"Don't do this," she begged and in that moment she couldn't have been more ashamed for the words that dared to leave her mouth. She didn't beg. She never did. Yet here she was, screaming out desperate pleas as the monster's hands held her wrists in their tight, iron grip. "Please."

"No?" he inquired, cocking his head to the side like a curious puppy.

Only he was far more dangerous, far more vicious than a mere canine; his gift was that of world-ending power, and he was more than willing to use a fraction of it on her. To subdue her. Control her. Make her his in ways she'd never imagined.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't given it a thought all those months ago, back when she believed the perfect little lie his beautiful face told, but not like this. Never like this.

She'd wanted it to be on her terms. With consent. With that _yes_ that would never, after this horrifying week, leave her lips again.

The _yes_ she hadn't given, yet he still felt entitled to her body, her soul, to everything hers. He'd felt entitled to _her._ What the devil wants, devil takes. So he took her. Used her. Abused her. And he'd promised even worse.

"I seem to recall you wanting this," he said. "You were practically throwing yourself at me like the whore you are." The words stung, hard. She couldn't quite decipher whether it was shame that she was feeling, or dread for the things to come. "What changed, hm?"

His eyes, dead and cold and so, so vicious, locked with hers, staring straight into her soul. Soul that was, no doubt, a shadow of what it used to be, a tattered reminder of the horror that would be her remaining days for she knew she wasn't going to get out of this alive. He would use her to fulfill his dark desires, and when she finds herself unable to take anymore of his abuse, he would throw her away like a useless ragdoll he thought of her as.

Well, not useless just yet. She still had some strength left. Not enough to fight him off, but just enough to live, to exist, to breathe. It's been days since she'd stopped resisting, finding it easier to let him satisfy his cravings than suffer the pain of trying to push him away. He didn't appreciate rejection. The punishments were more than severe; if she'd just laid still and let him do as he pleased, it would be over much sooner.

Much like a cat, Lucifer liked to play with his food. And just like a cat, he loved a good chase. Playing with his prey, tossing it around… Rowena shuddered at the memory. Resistance was futile. It wasn't worth the hurt.

"I loathe ye," she said, her voice raspy, throat dry and scratchy.

He pouted, his expression reminiscent of that of an innocent child. If he wasn't a monster, she'd think it adorable. "That's what makes it all the more fun."

Rowena's eyes welled up with new tears, the old ones already drying on her bruised cheeks. "No. Please," she whimpered like a wounded animal, swallowing a lump that formed in her achy throat. "I'll be yer servant, yer slave, anythin', just please, don't do this to me."

He smiled, observing her, thoroughly, carefully, like a predator would a prey, the look in his eyes hungry; hungry for her, for her body, for her mind that was slowly disintegrating with each passing second his foul skin touched hers.

"I am going to quote you on this one, Red," he said, leaning in close enough that she could smell his breath, a mixture of peppermint and expensive alcohol that used to turn her on, and now made her sick to her empty stomach. His lips brushed against her ear and she shivered at the unwelcome touch, as his mouth formed a cold, spine-chilling whisper of: _"No."_

She could only helplessly whimper as he proceeded to violently slam into her, over and over again, ignoring the pained, terrified screams ripping free from the containment of her throat.

And the worst of it all? He was smiling. All the way through.

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 **Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it.**


	2. Have You No Shame, Don't You See Me?

**This chapter is named after the lyrics of Evanescence's song Everybody's Fool.**

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 **~ Have You No Shame, Don't You See Me? ~**

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It was over just as quickly as it had started. The next time the door opened, it wasn't the devil's vile face that greeted her weary eyes. Before her stood an angel and a demon, a duo she'd never thought would willingly, without a life threat of some sort, work together, let alone come to her rescue.

Yet here they were, both looking worried out of their minds.

Which was ironic, and she had to stiffen the laughter that threatened to escape her dry lips, considering one of them had been the one who'd gotten her into this mess in the first place. Her son. Ever the disappointment.

She never should have tried to talk herself into giving him a chance. She'd tried to forget past misdeeds, start a new life far away from everything, and one day, maybe months or even years from now, she'd planned on paying him a visit and offering a new beginning.

Then he had to ruin everything.

She would never forgive him for this. Never.

If it weren't for his hastiness, none of this would have happened. Lucifer wouldn't have taken her. He wouldn't have used her as an object. He wouldn't have tortured her, humiliated her in ways no one ever had.

He wouldn't have raped her.

Rowena's tired, teary eyes found Crowley's, in them one simple question that echoed in her mind since the moment they took notice of his presence.

 _Why did ye leave me?_

The demon turned his head away, face red with shame.

 _Be ashamed, as ye should,_ she thought, though no usual joy came of it. She was empty, like a dead meatsuit after its host smokes out and leaves it to rot. There was no fear anymore. No pain. Nothing.

Only the shame remained. Her shame, for being so weak as to let this happen. For not fighting hard enough. For allowing them to see her like this. Wounded. Broken, Miserable.

Weak. Something she'd promised herself she'd never be again.

How pathetic she must have looked, her naked body all bruised and bloody, covered only by messy, blood-soaked sheets she'd been laying on since Lucifer had had his high and left her to recover enough for another round.

That was what her life had become. She was that feared, badass witch no more. Nowadays, all she was good for was being someone's slave. First the Grand Coven's, then the Winchester's, and now Lucifer's. They'd all had their fun with her. The Coven and the Winchesters with her magic, and Lucifer with her body.

Oh, how he'd enjoyed ruining her. How he'd enjoyed marking her, claiming her, controlling her. Making sure that every time she looked in the mirror, his face would be the first thing that came to her mind. The bites he'd left, the cuts, the lashes… those were permanent. Potions could make her mind forget, but her body would always remember. Her skin would forever bear the markings that that beast had carved into it.

Welcome to my life, she thought bitterly. Always in hiding. Constantly fearing for her safety. Looking for freedom, but never truly free.

Could that even be considered a life? She was living, yes, but she'd never felt truly alive.

At times she wondered if it was even worth it. If the spell that protected her from ultimate death was worth the pain of living. What good is surviving if your life doesn't mean a thing? If all you've ever known, and all you ever will know, is unspeakable torment?

Castiel's raspy voice was first to break the uncomfortable silence, his blue, sympathy-filled eyes staring straight into hers. "Rowena."

Her lips curled into what should have resembled a smile had their left corner not borne a bleeding cut, gloomy thoughts quickly discarded. "Castiel." She shot Crowley a furious, fiery glare. "Fergus. What brings ye fine lads here? Have ye come to gloat? To mock the big bad witch?"

"No, we…" Castiel swallowed, unsure of the appropriate response. He has never been good with people. He usually left the comforting part to Sam and, when he wasn't around, Dean. "Crowley asked me to help him find you."

She raised a pointed eyebrow. "Did he now?"

Gathering all her strength, she pushed herself up, using her elbows for support. A rush of pain instantly shot through her; the deep blue bruises on her abdomen protested the sudden movement, burning like a thousand fires, and she winced, letting out a snake-like hiss.

She could do this, she told herself. She'd been hurt worse. What's a wee bit of pain for a centuries old witch?

Castiel took a step forward, reaching to help her, but she held up a hand, warning him away. She didn't want anyone coming near her. Not right now, when she was this vulnerable, this pathetically weak. Positioning herself into a seating position, her wounds screaming at her to lie back down, she faced the unusual duo, looking every bit as proud as she always did. She still had some dignity left, and she would rather die than let it wither away.

"I don't know why he even bothered." Her pointed look settled back on her son. "Are ye not the one who left me with… Lucifer?" She swallowed, the devil's name like poison to her quivering mouth. She never wanted to say it again. She never wanted to even think of him again. She wanted Lucifer, and all traces of him, away from her for good. "Are ye not the one who blackmailed me into helpin' ye – again?"

"Rowena–" Castiel tried, but she cut him off.

"Look at me, boy!" she commanded, her voice stern, tough, much like that of a teacher.

To her surprise, Crowley obeyed, his eyes reluctantly meeting hers.

"Do ye like what ye see?"

His glance faltered.

"LOOK AT ME! This is what ye wanted, isn't it? To punish yer horrible mother?"

The King of Hell lowered his gaze once again.

"Are we even now?" Rowena demanded.

"It was never about that!"

 _He speaks,_ she thought, almost chuckling. "What was it about, then?"

"I–"

"Enough!" Castiel growled, breaking up the argument before it got out of control. Their relationship was messy enough for the angel to comprehend; the last thing he needed was a full blown fight. "We have to leave before he comes back. It won't take him long to find a new vessel. For all we know, he could already be on his way."

Rowena scoffed, wincing as she crossed her blue-and-purple-coated arms over her chest. "I'm not goin' anywhere with him."

Castiel took a quick glance at her bruises before averting his eyes, remembering Dean's words about it being rude to stare. He was about to say something when Crowley cut in, shoving him towards Rowena.

The witch pushed herself back on the bed, ignoring the hot pain in her injuries, and pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them like a frightened child. The angel she tolerated, but her son she wanted nowhere near her. Not after what he'd done. After what his actions had put her through. After everything she'd worked hard for her entire life dissipated into nothingness the moment he disappeared from the room that monster had captured her in.

"Crowley, what are you doing?" Castiel asked, frowning in confusion.

"Saving our asses," the demon replied bitterly, forcing the angel's hand atop Rowena's knee.

She trembled under his touch, the feeling of it dirty, intrusive, as if the mere contact of another's skin with hers would tear her body apart all over again.

Before she could scream at the angel to remove his filthy hand, she heard that familiar snap of fingers, and for a short, nauseous moment, the entire room spun.

And she was in hell no more.


	3. It's Too Late To Apologize

**This chapter is named after the lyrics of OneRepublic's song Apologize.**

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 **~ It's Too Late To Apologize ~**

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The bed she was seated on was old. It smelled of dust and moisture, a sickening mixture that would have usually made her scrunch her nose in disgust and leave without ever coming back.

For some reason she couldn't bring herself to ponder on, this dusty, moist bed, alongside the equally dusty, moist room she'd confined herself in, made her feel warm. Homely even. No longer had the bunker felt like a prison; now, the first thing that came to mind was home.

Maybe she's finally lost her mind, she thought bitterly. Or maybe she's going soft.

She was curled in a fetal position, her knees huddled to her chest with her arms holding them firmly in place. Her head rested on her knees, a mess of red locks spilling around her tomato-red, tear-stained face.

The angel, Castiel, had been kind enough to heal her injuries the very moment the Winchesters let them in. It didn't take long to talk the brothers into helping them; the moment their eyes fell upon her broken form, the door to the bunker was wide open and the angel was free to carry her to the nearest couch.

She'd resisted at first, before finally giving in. She'd needed all the help she could get, and if that included being carried by a former enemy at a time when she resented each and every touch, so be it. What's a little more trauma for an already broken-bodied witch? A mere touch was nothing in comparison to what she'd been through just a few hours prior.

All it took was one touch of his finger, and all her injuries were gone in an instant. She wasted no time in curling up like a child and screaming at the angel to leave her alone. The Winchesters, who, she presumed, were clued in on what had happened by her wretched son, appeared shortly after, informing her that they'd prepared a room for her.

She was welcome to stay for as long as she needed, they'd said. They respected her need for privacy and left her be. For a whole hour she just sat there, silently crying into her knees, hoping that everything that happened had just been a bad dream that she would soon wake up from.

Nothing came of her hopes.

The reality, ever the harsh mistress, hit her harder than ever before. How pathetic she must have looked to the hunters all messed up like that, covered by ripped, bloody sheets, with dry blood adorning her porcelain skin, and usually flawless hair that now resembled a bird's nest.

How the mighty have fallen, indeed.

A short-haired blonde who introduced herself as Mary, apparently the Winchesters' once dead mother (Rowena had been in the magic business long enough to stop questioning such things), had been kind enough to bring her a warm cup of tea and greet her with a smile

Rowena took a small sip and, finding herself liking it, pulled on a small smile of her own. Not a word was exchanged between the huntress and the witch. Just silent understanding. It had no longer mattered that one was a monster and the other her designated killer. In that moment they were just people, one helping the other in their hardest time of need.

Not long after, Mary had offered to show her the room they'd prepared for her, and Rowena nodded, silently following the blonde's lead. She could use some more privacy. After a whole week of having none, a small, smelly room was perfect.

"If you need anything, shout," Mary had told her before closing the door behind her, leaving Rowena alone in the dimly lit room.

The room she'd remained in for an hour now, motionless, staring at her feet as if in a trance.

The voices from what she assumed to be the living room echoed all throughout the bunker, getting louder each moment, and Rowena felt a tinge of pride for managing to keep to herself for the entirety of her stay. She'd been wise to keep her cries silent. She'd already humiliated herself enough.

"How did this happen?" she heard Dean, ever the hero, ask.

"Crowley and Rowena tried to get Lucifer back in the cage, and when their attempt failed, Crowley cowardly left," Castiel explained, a hint of judgment in his voice. Who would have thought that the angel whom she once tried to destroy would have her back?

"It wasn't cowardly," Crowley said defensively.

Of course it wasn't, Rowena thought bitterly. He'd wanted to get back at her. Wanted to put her through what he must have thought would be equal to what he, himself, had been through after she'd left. Wanted her to be scared. To suffer. To beg for mercy the way he must have begged for her to come back once he realized her face would never again greet him in the morning or send him off to sleep in the evening.

He wanted to hurt her.

And hurt her he did.

"I apologize," Castiel said sarcastically. "I meant _heroically."_

"How could you do that to your mother?" Mary demanded.

Some more shouting ensued, a cacophony of voices morphing into a soup of words Rowena could no longer tell apart.

Finally, after minutes of bickering, Sam's compassionate voice reached her ears.

"I'm not Rowena's biggest fan, but this… no one deserves this. How could you just leave her?"

"What can I say? It hadn't really crossed my mind he'd go _that_ far!" Crowley defended.

"He's Satan!" Dean pointed out. "Going too far is kinda his style!"

"I may have acted against my better judgment," the demon admitted.

Mary scoffed. "Oh, you may have acted against your better judgment. Is that excuse going to erase what happened to her? Will it make her feel better?"

"What do you people want me to do?" Crowley said, exasperated.

"Apologize, for starters."

Apologize. Right. Rowena scoffed at the thought. As if that would make all of this go away. As if a simple, meaningless apology would erase a week of hell she'd endured under the devil's cruel hand. As if a fake "sorry" would make her feel comfortable in her body again; as if it would erase the feeling of Lucifer's rough caresses, of deep lines of his nails marking her thighs and abdomen, of the bruises created by his fists slamming into her stomach at the smallest protest against his unwanted attention.

Her physical injuries might have been healed, but the ones on her soul would remain forever.

"Apologize? Me? To her? Seriously?" Crowley protested.

"Yes, seriously! The person in the room across the hall is your mother and you left her to be tortured and raped by Satan! I know you demons lack moral compass, but that's low even for your kind!" Mary exclaimed. "An apology is the least that she deserves."

Another shouting match erupted, and Rowena excluded herself from the conversation, wanting no more part of it. Why did they even care what happened to her? What concern was that of theirs? They were hunters; they were meant to corner and kill her kind, not offer them mercy, the way they have to her. She didn't deserve heir kindness, not after all she'd done to them, after all she'd put them and their loved ones through.

If the roles were reversed, she would not have been so damn forgiving.

Maybe that was what she lacked. Empathy. Compassion. Even, she thought with utter distaste, pity. If she'd had that from the start, none of this would have happened. She would have never embraced her gifts of magic. She would have raised her boy and the two of them would have lived their human lives and met again in Heaven. She would have allowed herself to love him the way he deserved. She never would have been so cold. She never would have put herself in danger, and she never would have had to leave to keep him safe.

Oh, she could feel now. She could feel very well. Only, now was the time she wished more than anything that she was her old, bitter self, devoid of all emotion, cold and calculating. Maybe that version of her would have handled this better. Maybe she wouldn't have embarrassed herself in front of the people who knew her, people who could, and, she was certain, would, use that weakness against her when that see fit.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Before she could demand to be left alone to suffer in silence, the way she'd been doing this past week, for Chuck knows people had seen more than enough of it in the hours that had passed, the door opened before gently closing.

Rowena allowed herself to look up and stiffened at the sight of a short, plump figure impeccably dressed in all black, staring at her as though she were an alien.

She could tell, from the look on his face, that it took all his self-control to keep his eyes on her, for every bone in his body was screaming at him to look away. To avoid her tearful gaze. To ignore her broken form. To pretend that nothing happened.

But something did. And it was his fault.

Gathering all her remaining pride, Rowena forced herself to look straight into his eyes. He needed to see what he had done. Needed to see the result of his careless actions. Needed to understand that this wasn't going to go away anytime soon. This would remain with her forever, eating up at her like an acidic burn. It would hurt her for as long as she lives.

She wanted it to hurt him, too. He had been the one who'd caused all this. It was only fair that he takes his share of pain.

"What do ye want, Fergus?" she asked, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall once again. She wasn't going to let him cause her anymore pain. She'd already been hurt enough for a lifetime.

"To talk," he said simply.

There was no usual cheekiness in his response. No signature sarcasm he was known for. No rude smiles or inappropriate gestures. Just a man who'd come to see his injured mother for seemingly no other reason than utter compassion.

Rowena wasn't aware he was even capable of feeling so.

"To talk?" Her mouth curled into a sarcastic smile before her face grew serious once again, her gaze intensifying, staring straight into the demon's rotten remainder of a soul. "And what would ye like to talk about, lad?"

Crowley swallowed, looking away for a moment, before his eyes met her pointed stare once again. "I came here to apologize," he said after a moment of pondering on it, wondering if it was worth it.

A demon, the King of Hell no less, apologizing? Now that was a new one! In her centuries on this Earth, Rowena had never seen one of their kind even look ashamed of their actions, let alone apologize.

Not that it mattered, though. None of it mattered. She was still in pain. The week of pure hell still haunted her. Lucifer's threats and mistreatments still burned in her mind like fresh, bleeding wounds. A mere apology couldn't make it go away, couldn't make the utter terror she still felt disappear.

"Is yer apology goin' to change what happened?" Rowena asked, glaring daggers at her son, who finally snapped under pressure and turned his head away, avoiding her judging gaze. "That's right. Look away. Be ashamed of what ye've done to yer _mother."_

She made sure to properly emphasize the last word. Her words stung, like a knife twisting in his wound; she could tell it pained him to hear those words come out of her mouth, full of judgment, resentment only a person who'd been burned too many times could feel for the one who'd betrayed them one time too many.

Good, she thought. Let him hurt. Let him suffer. His pain could never match hers, but she was content in letting him get at least a taste of what she'd been going through. He needed to feel it, needed to feel the result of his thoughtless actions.

"What's the matter, boy? Cat got yer tongue?" Her ruthless stare burned like a thousand fires. "Have I not just been promised an apology?"

Taking a deep breath, Crowley allowed himself to face her again. "I'm sorry." And it was obvious that it took more courage than she'd been willing to admit for him to say those two simple words.

Rowena laughed. It was the first laugh she'd had in days, honest and pure, a laugh she'd come to miss in her dark times of captivity.

"Yer sorry? That's it? Yer _sorry?"_ She spat the words like they were deadly poison. "After all the devil's done to me, because of ye, I might add, all ye can say is: 'I'm sorry'?" Her eyes narrowed, anger flashing in them like lightning. "You make me sick, boy. I should have killed ye when I had the chance."

She didn't mean that. Not really, despite the scorn gnawing at her heart, there was still a bit of love she felt for her son. Not that she'd ever let him know of its existence. Love was still a weakness, and she was already weak enough. There was no point in digging herself deeper for she was in too deep already.

Crowley winced, the harshness of her words stinging like a well aimed slap. He had it coming. He may not have had that many emotions, but he had this one, and it hurt, it fucking hurt to hear those words come out of her mouth. He couldn't even imagine what she must have been going through, but if mere words caused him so much pain, Lucifer's torment had to have hurt her hundreds of times more.

He understood that.

And for the first time in forever he'd regretted his actions. It was an unusual feeling, so very strange, that guilt only a son could bear after causing his mother unspeakable pain.

Some sorry excuse for a son he was.

Rowena certainly was a horrible mother, but she didn't deserve that to happen to her. Nobody deserves to be tortured like that.

For all the pain she'd caused him, she'd never done anything even remotely similar to what he had done to her. Their relationship wasn't one of love, but there were times, back when he was a little child and she was a young witch in practice, when she held him, soothed him, tended to his needs.

When she loved him the way only a mother can love a son.

"I'm sorry I left you with Lucifer," he said more confidently this time, daring himself to look her in the eye. "I realize it was a stupid thing to do."

Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, searching for hidden motives, and was surprised to find none. He was truly, genuinely sorry. Who would have thought filth like him could even think of feeling guilt, let alone actually feel it?

Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe he really did care.

Not that it mattered. A little pang of guilt couldn't change the past. After all, it was her that suffered at the hands of the devil himself, not her wretched son.

Crowley may be able to feel guilt, but he would never be able to understand her pain. It wasn't his body Lucifer pillaged. She has been the one to suffer through it, the one to forever bear the scars on her damaged soul.

Lowering her gaze back to her feet, she spoke softly: "I told ye I wanted no part in this." She swallowed, hard, forcing herself to look up again, her fingers nervously playing with tips of her messy hair. "I was done. Why did ye have to drag me into it again? I said no."

The no that should have mattered. The no that everyone around her ignored. The Coven. The Winchesters. Crowley.

Lucifer.

Every _no_ of hers had been a _yes_ to him. A game of hard to get that he had won at every time. Every push of hers had been a challenge, every shove a dare. Every attempt of escape a bet he had always won.

"You're my prize," he told her the first time he beat her enough to render her motionless, her broken body a writhing form atop the silk-covered bed. His hand stroked her hair, pushing a stray lock out of her face; he was gentle, unbelievably so, like a sweet lover tending to his hurting girl.

The second time she tried to run, his hand had firmly wrapped around her neck, his long nails digging into her raw, tender skin.

The third time he produced a belt, repeatedly striking her back as she attempted to get away.

The fourth, and last one, he pulled her by the hair, yanking her head back with impeccable strength before slamming it against the wall with all the strength he could muster and throwing her down on the hardwood floor. She didn't have enough time to breathe before his booted feet connected with her ribs, again and again, until she was begging him to stop.

When he got bored of kicking her, he started punching her, and soon enough his hands once again found themselves on her neck.

"Look what you made me do," he said, leaning down to whisper into her ear, his musky breath causing her stomach to churn.

"Please," she choked, struggling for breath. Weakly, she put her hand atop his forearm, her eyes, wet with unshed tears, pleading with him to stop. "Please. No."

"I said no," she repeated, shaking herself back to reality.

"You did," the Crowley agreed. "I should have listened."

"Ye should have," Rowena said.

"Mother–"

"Oh, it's mother now? Not evil bitch? Not ginger whore? _Mother."_ A look of distaste flashed across her face. "Ye're pathetic, Fergus."

"I went looking for you!" Crowley shouted. "Does that not account for something?"

"Ye never should have left me in the first place!"

Looking for her was nice, yes, but he still left her. That cold, harsh fact remained. He left her in the hands of the devil to be used and abused, to be tortured in ways no living person should. Left her to suffer the pain she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy.

Left her to die.

Perhaps she should have died. Then she wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of her weakness being exposed to the world. Everybody knew what had happened to her. Everybody was aware of the horrible things the devil had done to her. They all knew, and they pitied her like she was some common peasant. They wouldn't dare show it, but she knew, she absolutely knew their eyes would flash with pity every time her name would pop up in a conversation.

That's what she has become. Once a powerful witch, and now the star of her own pity party.

Dying would have at least saved her some dignity.

"If I could change that, I would. Believe me," Crowley insisted. His expression, Rowena noted, seemed genuine. He felt genuine guilt for what he'd let happen.

If only that was enough.

Nothing would ever be enough for her. Nothing her disgrace of a son could ever say or do could right the wrong that had been done to her.

"Why should I? All ye've ever done is cause me pain!"

"As if you were an innocent victim!" he accused. "Have you forgotten all that _you_ have done to _me?"_

Rowena's eyes widened, the horror of his words dawning on her like a harsh storm. "Are ye saying I deserved it? What Lucifer did to me – it was justified because of all the things I've done?"

At least Lucifer, in all his evil glory, was honest. Every step he took, every move he made, every word he spoke, it threatened violence, brutality, but it was honest. With him what she'd see would be what she would eventually get.

Crowley, on the other hand, was vaguer. He'd say one thing and mean the other. He'd pretend to care, then stab her in the back. And when he actually would care, he'd twist the blade, pushing it deeper into the seething wound.

"No! Stop twisting my words!" Crowley snapped, growing angry.

"I am not! Ye truly believe that, don't ye? Ye think what happened was justice. It was yer payback, wasn't it?"

He was about to respond when she held up a hand to shush him, speaking up before he got a chance to say a word.

"Throw me back in that dungeon, why don't ye? Ye're certainly headed in that direction!"

"Enough, mother! I'll admit, I wasn't terribly sorry when you were captured, but I didn't know he was going to do this. I certainly wasn't expecting it, and I don't condone it. I'm the King of Hell. Nasty as Hell itself, but even I have standards. That is a low I would never go."

"Is it really, Fergus? Because yer words speak otherwise. Yer actions speak otherwise."

Crowley sighed. This was a losing battle, and there was no use fighting it. Nothing he could say would ever be good enough. "What do you want?"

"Ye know what I want."

"No, I don't. Nothing I say is good enough for you. So what is it you want from me? Tell me and I'll do it."

And he meant it. Whatever she required, he'd get it. Anything, just to make this darkness go away. Rowena was far from a perfect mother, but he was willing to give her a chance. He was willing to try to mend their relationship. It would be difficult now, he was aware of that, but he wasn't going to give up just yet.

He was aware of what he had done. The consequences of his actions were right in front of him, stabbing him like sharp, pointy knives, only now instead of blood and bruises, it was frightened, tearful eyes locked with his – eyes that told a story of torment even worse than the one that awaited deranged souls in hell.

Rowena was suffering, and in her twisted way she wanted him to suffer, too. Only then would he understand what it was like for her. And she wanted him to understand, Crowley was well aware of that. She wanted him to feel what she felt, to see what she saw. She wanted him to hurt so she wouldn't hurt alone, so she wouldn't be lonely in her pain.

It was sad. Even a soulless creature like him had to admit that. He may not have been overly fond of his mother, but that was something he'd wished he could make right. For her, to make it easier to deal everything that transpired in that room hidden in that wicked mansion he'd made his priority to burn to the ground. If only he could turn back the time. He was foolish then; now he would have made a different, better choice.

If he could take her pain, ever just half of it, onto himself, he would have readily done so. Anything, just to make her better again. He'd missed that manipulative bitch she once was. This sad, broken figure wasn't her. It may have looked like her and talked like her, but it wasn't truly her. The Rowena he knew was headstrong, fearless, ruthless to the core. Not a hurt puppy desperately whining for help.

"TELL ME!" he roared, his dark, acid heart aching for an answer.

"I want the pain to go away!" she shouted, startled by his outburst. She was usually good at keeping to herself, but now this shell of the person she used to be couldn't keep it in. Not anymore. "Don't ye see how ashamed I am? Ye, Castiel, the Winchesters – everyone saw me weak! The grand witch Rowena pathetically carried around by an angel. Bloody and broken like a wee ragdoll."

She scoffed, wrinkling her nose in disgust at herself, at her own body. Even now, without a trace of physical injuries, she felt dirty. Damaged and ruined like an old, used up rag, ripped at all the edges and torn apart into useless pieces.

She had become everything she'd promised herself never to be.

Crowley took in a breath, calming down. "It wasn't your fault."

"Not fully, no," she said. "Part of it is on ye. But I _have_ been weak. I haven't fought hard enough. I've given up too easy. He may have suppressed my magic, but I still had my body, and I didn't use it. So he did. He made _full_ use of it."

And boy, did he enjoy it!

"No." Crowley shook his head. "That's not… He had no right to do that."

"He did not," she agreed. "Yet, he still did it. Thanks to ye."

Crowley sighed. "Well, I'm sorry," he said, at complete loss of patience, before turning on his heel and heading for the door. What else was there for him to say?

"Sorry isn't good enough, Fergus," Rowena said.

For a moment he froze on the spot, his hand tightly gripping the doorknob; he thought of giving her one final look, but decided against it, instead closing the door shut behind him, his slow steps echoing throughout the bunker's hallway.

Rowena stared after him, stone cold and motionless. Then she broke down, all emotions she'd been holding back spilling out like a flash flood. Spine-chilling screams escaped her throat and she let them go, let them roam free in all their raw glory. She didn't care if anyone heard. There was no more dignity left to preserve, no pride holding her back from expressing the one thing that had been constant in her life since the moment the devil's vicious hands found their way back around her neck: pain.

High on the release, she wept like a child in search of comfort as the monsters in her head screeched, holding her heart in their iron grip as their sharp claws burrowed deep within it.


	4. Make My Heart a Better Place, Give Me

**This chapter is named after the lyrics of** **Within Temptation's song All I Need.**

* * *

 **~ Make My Heart a Better Place, Give Me Something I Can Believe ~**

* * *

The water was hot, almost boiling, just the way she needed it. As the droplets fell over her trembling body like a hot downpour, she rubbed at her skin, scrubbing herself clean of the dirt of his touch.

Washing away every last trace of his filth and pouring it down the drain.

Her nails, long and sharp and kept as always, dug in deep, leaving behind thin, long lines, their dark redness a perfect contrast to her alabaster skin. Memories flashed amidst a raging storm of thoughts that stirred inside her head, mocking her, haunting her like ghosts of never ending past.

She lowered her hand to her right thigh, feeling the place where Lucifer's nails buried into deep enough to draw blood. Her shaky fingers traced up, following the imaginary lines he'd torn up as he pulled his hand up, slowly, carefully, prolonging the pain of his fingers burrowing under her skin like a mole.

 _Stop it,_ she begged, but the more she resisted, the more vivid the memories became.

For a moment Lucifer's hand was on her neck again, and her breath cut short as he squeezed as hard as he could; not hard enough to suffocate her, but sufficient to cause her pain.

"I like this game," he said, his voice seductive, flirtatious, and if that were anyone else, she might have found that deranged game worth playing.

But that – that was dangerous. It was a game she didn't want to play. She didn't want him anywhere near her. Didn't want him touching her, staring at her like a predator observing its captured, frightened prey. Didn't want his foul breath lingering on her face.

"Please," she choked, prompting him to chuckle in a way that was both playful and dangerous.

"Playing hard to get, are we?" A smirk crossed his thin lips. "Naughty girl."

She gave a quick, small shake of her head. "No, please." Her voice breaking, she coughed, gasping for breath as his grip on her neck tightened once again.

"Yes, please," he countered, and then his lips crashed into hers, his tongue invading her mouth.

Without thinking of the consequences, she captured it between her teeth and bit down, hard enough to pierce the skin. Lucifer quickly pulled out; Rowena only had a moment to take in a deep breath after his hand released her, before his palm connected with her cheek in a sharp slap. Blood poured out her newly split lip, dripping down her chin in thin, warm streams.

"Ginger bitch!" he screamed, shooting her a mad, deranged glare that sent shivers of dread down her spine.

He gave her another slap before grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her up to face him. Rowena hissed in pain, her frightened eyes wide, thoughts of what he was going to do to her rummaging through her fragile mind.

"Do that again and I will hurt you so much, you will beg me to end your miserable existence," he whispered coldly.

She hadn't done anything similar again, yet that didn't stop him from making good on his threat.

Rowena raised her hand up, her thin fingers dancing atop her neck like tiny butterflies, feeling the long healed spots his long, firm ones pressed on.

She said no. She begged him. She never begs, and yet she found it in her to beg him not to hurt her.

But it didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him other than using her to fulfill his selfish desires, to satisfy his dark cravings like the true dark prince he was.

She hadn't done anything special to earn his ire. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he took his chance, because why not? What's a teeny tiny witch to an all-powerful archangel?

She meant nothing. Her pain meant nothing. She only existed to serve him, to be an obedient little doll for him to play with any way he wanted.

And play he did.

Oh, how he enjoyed it!

 _Never again,_ Rowena swore to herself, leaning her forehead against the slippery wall.

Never again will anyone touch her against her will. Never again will they even look at her without her permission. She was done being pushed around by others for their own selfish gains.

From now on, she was the one in control. Nobody will dare even think of using her again. That was a promise she'd intended to keep.

She would rather die than let anyone weaken her the way Lucifer did.

Lucifer…

His unbreakable smile throughout the whole ordeal; the pearl white of his teeth that had seared into her memory like a deeply carved scar.

That satisfied glean in his eyes every time he'd notice a trace of tears in hers would haunt her forever

She would always feel his fingers on her neck, on her thighs, all over her body, like phantom limbs straight from nightmares.

That pain would never go away.

 _Why?_

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in messy streams.

Why couldn't he leave her alone? Why couldn't she be free – of him, of the pain that still held her body in its tight grip, of the weakness that still plagued her? Why couldn't she just spread her wings and fly, and be herself again? Cruel. Ruthless. Dangerous. Not this fragile shell of a person she'd turned into.

Rowena MacLeod was strong. She could do this, she told herself. She could beat Lucifer. She could return her dignity and become her old self once again.

But how?

And, after everything that had happened in the past week, was it even worth it?

Because, honestly, at the moment, she didn't feel like it was.

* * *

Sam had enough decency to knock, and let himself in only when she said he could.

"Good morning," he said, just as he did every morning since she'd arrived at this wretched place.

It had become sort of a ritual between them. He'd knock, bring her food, they'd exchange greetings, and then he would leave.

This time, however, the younger, taller Winchester appeared to have other ideas.

When she didn't hear the door open and close for the second time, Rowena turned around, facing the one they'd nicknamed Moose. Giant, as she sometimes called him. It fit, given his strong, lean physique, his height rivaling that of a tower.

Though, to be fair, pretty much anyone was a tower in comparison to her. Her shortness wasn't exactly a secret.

"What do ye want?" she asked, and instantly felt a pang of guilt pulling at her heart. She didn't mean for the words to come out that harsh. For almost a week, it was bare silence with them, save for the few greetings. He'd bring her food, then leave. That was it.

She wasn't used to him standing there, staring at her as though she were a ghost. Though she might as well could have been, considering she hadn't left these damp, smelly chambers for days. For all she knew, the utter distaste of the place could have killed her without her even noticing.

Sam shuffled his feet nervously before taking in a deep breath of encouragement. "How are you feeling?"

 _Why do you care?_ she wanted to ask, and instantly mentally cursed at herself for even thinking that. As annoying as they were, the Winchesters had given her a refuge, a safe place to stay when she was at her worst. In their own insufferable hero way they'd tended to her needs and treated her with kindness no one had ever shown her before.

It would only be fair if she swallowed up her newly rebuilt bits of pride and reciprocated, at least a wee bit.

That thought alone almost made her burst into laughter. When did she become so soft? The old Rowena would have thrown them a hex bag and made their heads explode. This new one…

Quite frankly, she was scaring her.

Rowena had always been proud. Always cold and calculated, selfish to the core. Her own number one since the moment she'd embraced her power and given in to the magic coursing through her veins. Her centuries of solitude had taught her she could only rely on herself.

All her allies would either sell her out to hunters or the Coven, or die trying. And those who'd stick by her side would flee the moment things would take a turn for worse.

So she'd adapted. No more trust in people. No more false friendships. No bonds or relationships. Just her and her magic.

It had been working well, until now. Now, she realized, dread dawning on her like a flash of lightning, all those feelings she'd buried long ago were starting to resurface, stronger than ever. Love. Compassion. Gratitude. Everything she'd thought had been long gone.

Maybe she wasn't as strong as she'd thought, she pondered.

Or, and this thought hurt her more than anything, this was what real strength was like. Being surrounded by friends and trusted allies. Being safe and protected. Being (she almost gagged) loved, and loving in return.

She'd almost forgotten what that felt like. And, though she'd never admit it out loud, she kind of liked it.

"Better," she replied, and she meant it.

The nightmares were still there; Lucifer's voice still haunted her dreams, taunted her, mocked her, and his phantom caresses still lingered on her skin, but she was slowly learning to regain control over herself again.

Magic helped, of course. Hex bags under her pillow, healing incantations, good night potions… The Winchesters were kind enough to get all the ingredients she'd asked for. For a family of hunters, they treated her with utmost kindness.

She'd made a mental note to never forget that.

Sam nodded. "Good."

His hand was grabbing the doorknob when her voice stopped him in his tracks. "Will… will I ever forget?"

Her aching heart begged him to say yes, she would forget it. That small flicker of hope was all she had left to cling to.

Sam sighed, and her face fell as he answered: "You won't."

He turned to face her, putting on a brave smile; the smile of someone who had been through what she had, possibly even worse, and who had, against all odds, managed to overcome it and, instead of wallowing in self pity like she had, turn it into a strength rather than a weakness.

"But you will move on. You just have to work for it."

A wee bit of hope back, Rowena asked: "How?"

"By not letting him beat you. Not gonna lie, it won't be easy, but as long as you have people who care about you, you can fight it."

People who cared about her? That one might have worked for him, but she had nobody she could even consider a familiar, let alone a loved one.

"And if I don't?"

Sam frowned in confusion, prompting her to continue:

"If I don't have people who," she scoffed at the word, _"care_ about me?"

"And who says you don't?"

"Well, I'm not exactly what ye'd call a people person. I have no friends. No family."

Crowley's picture flashed before her eyes and she shook her head. No. He was the reason all of this happened in the first place. He was no family of hers. She was alone, through and through, abandoned like the day she'd given birth to him. Just as his father had left her, just as she had left him, everyone else had left her.

"You have us," Sam said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rowena couldn't suppress a cynical chuckle. "Ye? Ye can't be serious."

"I am," he said firmly. "I'll admit, I wasn't your biggest fan, and neither was anyone else, for that matter. But what happened to you… It changed everything. It wasn't right, and we want to help you."

Rowena scrunched her nose in disgust. "So ye pity me." Figures they would. What else could she have expected from a bunch of wieners? "No, thank ye, I'd rather rot alone."

"There's a difference between pity and compassion, Rowena. We're sorry for what happened. I was locked in the cage with Lucifer and I understand–"

"Ye understand nothin'!" she snapped, cutting him off. No matter what had happened between them, he couldn't possibly understand what she had gone through, what she was still going through.

No one could understand her pain but her.

"Oh, I do," Sam said, mentally preparing himself to relive the memories he'd kept buried deep in the back of his mind, hoping to never have to dig them out again. "I know what it's like to have your body invaded against your will, and there's nothing you can do about it. And the more you beg him to stop, the harder he pushes you. Did he call you his prize, too? Did he blame you for what he did, saying you made him do it?"

Tears filled Rowena's eyes, spilling down her cheeks despite her hardest attempts to hold them back. The devil's words echoed in her head, the whispers loud, haunting, as though he were sitting right next to her.

Looks like she wasn't Lucifer's only plaything. For some wicked reason, the thought comforted her. To have someone who'd gone through the same ordeal, especially someone as tough and strong as Giant, gave her hope. Because if he, a mere human, could do it, who's to say she, the most powerful witch that ever lived, couldn't?

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly, her long, blood-red nails biting into her forearms.

"He said he owned me," she said, the pain of the memory eating at her fast-beating heart.

"He doesn't," Sam assured her. "No one owns you but you."

She sighed. "It's a bit difficult to believe that after what happened." Her jaw clenched with anger as another memory burned through her mind. "After what he did."

"It always is in the beginning," he said. "Give it time."

"I don't think I can," she admitted. "I want these thoughts gone now. I want him as far away from me as possible."

"And he will be. I promise. We won't let him come near you again."

Rowena swallowed, hard, pulling in a breath in an attempt to remain calm. _We won't let him come near you again._ The words echoed through her mind like a quiet prayer. Why did these people – people she'd tried to kill multiple times, people she manipulated and hurt over and over again – care so much about her wellbeing? She couldn't understand it. Former enemies looking out for one another? It didn't make any sense.

Yet, at the same time, it made perfect sense. The Winchesters may have been hunters, but they were the noble kind. They saved the innocent, stood up for the abused, and protected the weak. It was strange, to be met with such kindness, something she'd rid herself of centuries ago.

Maybe it was time to let some of the old her back in. Caring for others, opening her heart to love, letting bits of her own vulnerability show…

It wasn't weakness.

It was human.

And humanity, she realized, could have been what she had been lacking all these years.

"Why?" she inquired.

A look of shock flashed over Sam's face. He stared at her, stunned, as if wondering how she could even think of asking such a question. "Because no one deserves what happened to you," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Maybe I did deserve it. I've done horrible things. Things I can't take back."

"That still doesn't make what happened to you right."

Perhaps, she thought. But it still made for a fine retribution, more than fair, in some cultures' customs.

"None of us are perfect," Sam added. "We've all done bad things. But what sets us apart from people like Lucifer is that we can change. We can choose good over evil. He can't. He doesn't know what it's like to be good, but we do, and that makes it possible for us to redeem ourselves."

Tears falling, Rowena's eyes met Sam's in a desperate plea for assurance. "Even me?"

"Even you," he confirmed, nodding. "If you want to."

"I do," she said decisively, giving her own small nod.

It was the first time she said it out loud, the first time she allowed herself to admit that, yes, she wanted to do better, and yes, she was capable of it if given a chance.

And by the looks of it, they were giving her more than just a new chance – they were giving her a new start, a clean slate to start fresh and forget about the dreadful past.

She would be a fool not to take it.

"I want to redeem myself."

Sam sent her a small, proud smile. "You're heading in the right direction. We'll be right there with you. Whatever you need, just call us. We won't leave you. That's what family is for."

"Family?"

She was weeping now, too overwhelmed with emotion to contain herself. From sworn enemies to bitter allies. From frenemies to reluctant friends. From friends to…

Good god, if someone had told her about this six months ago, she would have laughed in their face.

From friends to family.

Something she hadn't had in years. Something she'd steered clear of, putting the longest distance between business and feelings. Something she'd convinced herself long ago she would never have again, not after fleeing and abandoning her child at the mercy of solitude.

She pretended with Crowley, but there were parts of that play that were not pure acting. Feelings involved, the same ones she'd told herself she didn't have anymore. It was easier to live a lie than face the truth.

Maybe now she could do just that.

"Yes," Sam said. "Dean, me, our mom, Cas…" He pondered over the next name for a moment before letting it fall from his lips. "Crowley."

 _"Fergus,"_ she said his name with complete and utter scorn burning with a thousand bitter flames, "has made it very clear what he thinks of me when he left me with that monster. He is no family of mine."

It stung to say those words. She hated him, now more than ever, but there was still a tiny bit of love she felt for her son. He could hurt her in worst ways possible, just as it had now, and she would still love him. Maybe not wholly, but a part of that love would forever remain in her darkened heart.

He was her son, one and only, the person she'd given life to all those years ago. No matter what happens, that kind of love never dies.

"Crowley's… trying," Sam said, not quite sure how to explain the demon's strange behavior for the past week.

Rowena scowled. "That's not good enough."

"I'm not saying you should forgive him," Sam said. "God knows I wouldn't. But I suggest you hear him out. I know it's hard to believe, considering he's the King of Hell and all that, but he really is sorry."

"That doesn't change what happened."

"It doesn't," Sam agreed. "You have every right to be mad at him. What he did was terrible. No one's saying it wasn't. But…"

Rowena sighed, knowing what he was about to say. Those Winchesters were one predictable bunch. "He's family."

"He's family."

The witch nodded, taking a moment to compose herself. There was truth to those words – Fergus was her family, the only remainder of it she had left. The Winchesters and their feathery friend may have thought of themselves as such, but when it came to blood, Fergus was the one who shared – or used to share, back when he was human – hers.

They may not have considered themselves as such anymore, but biology doesn't lie. The heart doesn't lie. They were family, whether they liked it or not.

"Alright," she allowed, her heart rushing to beat at full speed. She hadn't felt this nervous in a while.

"You want to see him?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "Summon him."

The young Winchester pulled on a brave smile, prompting Rowena to scoff. "You won't regret this."

She certainly hoped she wouldn't.


	5. I've Still Got a Lot of Fight Left In Me

**This chapter is named after the lyrics of Rachel Platten's song Fight Song.**

* * *

She expected it to be difficult to face him again, after practically throwing him out the last time he tried to talk to her, but Rowena was calm. Unusually so. Raising her head high and proud, her emerald eyes locked with his brown ones, trapping him in a firm, decisive gaze.

"Mother."

"Fergus."

His name fell from her lips with that signature Scottish drawl of hers.

Crowley stiffened, carefully choosing his words. He's got his chance now, and he wasn't going to ruin it. "Moose said you wanted to see me."

"Samuel thinks we should talk."

"Do you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," she admitted. "It's all very…" She rolled her eyes, hating herself for being so open about her feelings. "Confusin'."

"Fair enough."

"Oh, there's nothin' about it, Fergus," she said bitterly. "It's because of ye–"

Crowley cut her off. "I said I was sorry."

"And I said that's not good enough."

"I can't do better."

"That's true," she allowed, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to say. It wasn't going to be easy; she knew that, but someone had to say it, and that someone had to be her. "As much as it pains me to say it, I know ye can't do anythin' to change the past. But, the fact remains, it was yer actions that led to my…" Humiliation. Rape. Abuse. "Torture."

"I'm aware of that. I understand that nothing I do is going to erase me leaving you. I can only apologize and promise that I will never do it again."

"Will ye really?" she inquired.

"I will," he confirmed. "I'm still not particularly fond of you, but you've grown on me. I don't want to hurt you again.

Tears prickled at Rowena's eyes, framing them with the darkest of red. She swallowed, taking in a breath to regain her composure. Did he just, in typical MacLeod family fashion, tell her he loved her?

Feeling guilty for what happened was one thing, but this… She wasn't sure how to handle it. Should she laugh? Cry? Both at the same time? It's been literally centuries since the two of them had exchanged such words, centuries since she, herself, had heard anyone say (and truly, honestly mean) them in regards to her.

If the world hadn't ended with Amara, she thought, it certainly was going to now. There was no other explanation for what just happened.

"This won't get ye points from the hero squad, ye know," she told him, deflecting as usual.

Crowley shook his head. "This isn't about them."

"What is it about, then?"

"You," he said simply. "You're my mother. I admit, we've had our differences. God knows we still have them. Back then I wanted to hurt you, but not like this. If I'd known what he was going to do, I would have taken you with me. I regret having any part in your torture. I want to make it right. I want…" He sighed, taking a small breath. "I want us to be a family."

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't moved by his speech. That single tear that slid down her cheek was proof enough of the impact his words had no her.

She wanted to hate him, wanted it so, so much, but she couldn't. Not after this, after all the apologies and looks of guilt that crossed his weary face.

Hating him war easy. Letting herself love him was hard. And, quite frankly, she'd had enough of easy. If she had to try a wee bit harder, so be it. She was done being the wicked witch, done pulling deadly pranks on ignorant minds and playing cunning little games of thrones. She was done with pain and suffering, aiming to free herself of it and kick off the nasty habit of inflicting it on others.

From now on she was going to play fair. Being bad only got her in trouble. Being good, on the other hand, could help her. She could use it to her benefits. She'd already formed a little family with the hunters. Now she was contemplating letting her son back into her life. One day she might ask him to introduce him to his son, the supposedly lovely Gavin she'd heard bits and pieces about from gossiping demons back in Hell.

She hadn't thought about it much until now, but she would love to be a grandmother. She was a terrible mother, that was a fact she couldn't deny, but there was still chance for her to do better. She could learn to love her son, and maybe his son, too. She could finally have the family she'd always wanted, the one ripped away from her by the Coven back when she was still a naïve girl playing with potions.

"That's goin' to take work. A lot of it."

"Fine by me," Crowley said.

"And time."

"Mother, we're immortal. We've got all the time in the world."

Now that prompted the witch to smile, genuinely for the first time. "I suppose…"

Crowley's face lit up. "Does that mean you'll consider it?"

Having nothing to lose and plenty to gain, Rowena nodded. "It does. But…" She put up a finger, pointing at him. "It will be on my terms. I still need time."

"I understand. Take as much time as you need."

Rowena nodded, earning her a content smile. As Crowley turned to leave, she called out for him, her voice soft, almost motherly.

"Fergus."

He turned to look at her once again. "Yes?"

Tears spilling from her eyes, Rowena gulped, trying to compose her thoughts. He had to hear it from her, and he had to hear it now. She was already honest with him once; she could do it again, and this was something she couldn't keep from him anymore. The burden of it was killing her, eating at her heart like a nasty acid burn.

A secret like this had to be revealed. Crowley needed to know the truth, for both his sake and hers.

"I really didn't want to leave ye'. The Grand Coven… they were after me. If I'd taken ye with me and they found us, there's no tellin' what they would've done to ye to punish me. I had to go without ye, to keep ye safe. Abandonin' ye was the hardest decision I've ever had do make. I'll never forgive myself for it. If I'd known they'd never catch up with me, I would've taken ye. But there was no guarantee and I couldn't risk it."

Her entire body was shaking, trembling with emotion that overcame her, and she raised her hands up to her face to wipe away the tears clouding her vision.

"I admit, I was a terrible mother, but I did love ye. I just didn't know how to show it. I saw how unhappy ye were and, right before I left, I made a decision to be better. But then the Coven came after me and I never got a chance to make it up to ye."

She whimpered, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking up at him once more, her eyes swollen with incoming tears, the already fallen ones biting at her reddened cheeks.

Lips trembling, she softly said: "I'm sorry, Fergus, for being a disappointment. I wish I'd been a better mother."

Crowley, teary–eyed and overwhelmed with emotion himself, nodded. "I know."

And with that he left.

And for the first time in weeks, Rowena felt like everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Days turned into weeks, which in turn became months, and soon Rowena could, if she'd bothered to keep tabs, mark her two full months at the bunker.

The beginnings were rocky, but as time went on, she became more comfortable with opening herself up to those she had once considered enemies. The conversation with Sam, and her subsequent acceptance of Crowley's apology, was only the beginning.

Soon enough she started to leave her room more often. She'd usually sit in the living room just before the break of dawn, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the TV with a cup of tea in her hand. She'd greet the early risers before retreating to her chambers once everyone's presence would be known, not quite willing to engage in socialization just yet.

Then she began joining them for breakfast, thinking it unfair to have it served to her every morning; she was just a guest in their home, one they'd already done way too much for, and the least she could do was have a wee meal with them.

After that she grew comfortable enough to hang out with them for most of the day. The room she was in started to feel more like a prison than a refuge, its damp, yellowed walls suffocating her; she needed human contact – a touch, a smile – and the Winchesters were kind enough to provide it.

Even Castiel felt comfortable in her presence, treating her like a friend rather than a foe. She'd pulled him aside one day and apologized for having cursed him, and expressed her gratitude for him rescuing her. The angel was kind enough to forgive her right away, and let her know he'd be there whenever she needed him, just like he was there for the Winchesters.

Nothing warmed up Rowena's once frozen heart more than that acceptance, that kindness her adopted little family had given her for no reason other than goodness. She was in need and they were there to help. That was good enough for them, and more than just that for her. It taught her to appreciate the little things; the smallest of smiles, the lightest of touches, and the simplest of words that might have meant nothing to those who said them, but certainly had a huge meaning to her.

People had stopped being tools to her and had become friends. She'd stopped thinking of them as playthings to use and abuse for her own gain. After being subjected to the similar treatment, she'd realized just how much damage her actions had been causing, and had vowed to never stoop that low again. Kindness cost her nothing, and she, along with those she'd spare her formerly wicked hand, could only gain from it.

This morning was no different than plenty of those before. She got up early, as she became used to ever since the whole thing with Lucifer; the nightmares, while still somewhat present, were almost completely gone, but her sleep was still far from easy. Waking up early and having a few cups of tea helped calm her troubled mind.

As she walked over to the living room, dressed impeccably as always, she was met with a cacophony of voices, strong, loud ones, discussing something with utter determination, their tones deadly serious.

Throughout all the noise Rowena managed to make out that it was Lucifer they were discussing; the moment his name had sounded, she stiffened, her body frozen with fear that had just moments later morphed into anger. That archangel would pay for everything he'd put her through. She'd vowed to make sure of it.

She was done fearing everything and everyone around her, going through life like a fragile wee porcelain doll on the verge of breaking into millions of little pieces. She was done hiding from the world, wallowing in her own self pity, replaying the horrifying torment he'd inflicted upon her over and over again in her head until her nails would press so hard into her temples that they'd draw drops of blood.

She was done with him. For good.

Castiel and Crowley had managed to locate Lucifer. He'd apparently possessed some cult leader, and had wallowed in the endless worship of his devoted followers. Rowena scoffed; as if his enormous ego needed any more stroking. Nothing could ever be enough for someone like him, she supposed. He was just that kind of person; cruel, vicious to the bone, and addicted to praise. It must have been his favorite high.

The gang was discussing their next move, spewing out suggestions as to how to ambush him. Castiel volunteered to be the bait, to which the three Winchesters and – in a surprising turn of events Rowena had made a mental note to ponder on later – Crowley loudly protested, shooting his idea down before he could even elaborate on what he had planned.

It was only when Crowley suggested to use some of his demon underlings to bait him to give all of them a chance to sneak up on him that Rowena made her presence known, startling the conversation–immersed gang.

"I'll do it."

It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised by her bold suggestion, but one thing was for sure – they all very openly disapproved.

"The hell you will," Dean protested.

Rowena couldn't help pulling on a small smile. Out of them all, Dean was the only one who never once looked at her with pity, instead treating her like he had all his friends – offering her beer, spewing out sarcastic remarks she was more than happy to retort to, and having a genuine appreciation for her sass, saying he could see where Crowley got his sense of humor from.

While others were too busy walking on eggshells around her, at least at first, Dean was cracking jokes and pretty much acting like nothing had ever happened.

Rowena appreciated that. It helped her grow used to that normalcy of life she'd almost forgotten about.

"I can sneak up on him from behind and paralyze him with a spell," she explained.

"Are you off your rocker? I don't know if you remember, mother, but last time you did that, it didn't go so well," Crowley pointed out, growing agitated at even the mere thought of putting her in danger again.

"I know what happened last time, _Fergus."_ She put a strong emphasis on his name just because. It was fun, saying it like that, with that old, thick drawl of her strong accent. "I'm stronger now. I've been practicing."

And she had. Whenever she wasn't with the gang, she'd go through spell books the Winchesters, Crowley, and Castiel had been kind enough to provide her with. If Lucifer ever came calling again, she wanted to be ready. She wanted to be strong and prepared for anything the bastard could throw at her.

Crowley shook his head, in utter disbelief that she'd even suggest that. "Absolutely not."

"It's my life, Fergus. My decision."

"And what happens if he overpowers you again while you're out making decisions?" Dean demanded straightforwardly.

That was one of the things she admired about him. While the others would do their best to avoid certain themes in fear of hurting her, Dean would choose the direct way and just say what was on his mind, no matter how mean or hurtful it was. It was honest, and that was all that mattered.

"If he does – and I certainly doubt he will – ye lads can attack him from behind. There's five of ye and one of him. He can't take all of ye."

Dean shook his head in disapproval. "I don't like this."

"Rowena, it's suicide," Castiel warned, trying to reason with the witch.

"It's the right thing to do," she corrected. "Isn't that what ye all keep blabbin' about all the time?"

"Yeah, but not like this," Sam said softly, always the calming voice of reason. "You could get killed."

Rowena laughed lightly. "Resurrection Seal, dear." She pointed to her thigh, where the crooked scar still marked her once flawless skin. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

"And what if he rips your head off? Something you said he explicitly threatened to do," Crowley said, his voice stern, demanding. He'd gotten her hurt once; he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

"I've upgraded the Seal," she explained. After his threats, she decided to make sure he couldn't act on them. As long as he doesn't completely obliterate her body, the newly improved Seal would let her live. It would take a few moments, and it would hurt like a bitch, but she would survive. That was all that mattered.

"I still don't like this," Dean said.

Rowena shot him a pointed look. "It's not up to ye, sunshine."

"I think it is," Mary interjected. "Lucifer's already hurt you once before. We don't want that to happen again."

"Oh, I understand that, dear. I really do. And I'm very grateful to ye all. But I need ye to understand me, too. I want in on this. He needs to see he hasn't beaten me."

"This is payback, then?" Dean asked, eyes narrowed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rowena shrugged. "Maybe. I just know I need him to suffer, and I want to be the one to do it."

She had do it, had to prove to both herself and him that she was more than just a pretty face. She was strong, one of the most powerful witches that ever lived. The Seal could only keep her body alive. It was up to her to take care of her mind, and beating Lucifer could do just that; help her heal, return some more faith in her abilities, help her become that fearful witch she once was.

"It's dangerous," Sam said.

"Everything in life is, dearie," she pointed out.

"If you're sure–" Dean began.

"Dean!"

"What?" He shot Sam a look. "She can do it. She's got more mojo in her than all of us combined. No offense, Cas."

Rowena beamed, pulling on a bright smile. Praise was something she could never tire of.

"Non taken," Crowley spoke up, prompting Dean to roll his eyes.

"I still don't think it's the smartest decision, but it's the best one we've got. We either take it or leave it."

"Leave it, then!" the demon growled.

"Fergus!" Rowena warned in a surprisingly stern tone, like a real mother chastising her unruly child.

"Mother!" Crowley shot right back.

She looked him dead in the eye. "I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. I'm doin' this with or without ye bampots."

"You've chosen the wrong time to play the hero!"

"Play the hero? Oh, please!" Rowena scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I just want to see him burn."

* * *

A simple, well aimed chant of _Manete_ was enough to render the devil motionless. As the boys and Mary surrounded him, helping her prepare her very complicated spell, Lucifer just smiled, his eyes scanning her body from head to toe.

He licked his thin lips, taking in her glamour, the beauty she radiated with like a glittering star. His hungry, never satiated look devoured her, observing her like the predator he was. He was in a different body, but that lustful, greedy craving of his stayed the same.

"I see you recovered well, Red."

Rowena focused on the spell, rising her voice so her chants could cover up his nasty comments. She wasn't up for snide commentary, not now, and especially not with him. He would pay for everything he's done to her; every slap, every punch, and every kick. For every single thrust she'd said no to, every pull of her hair and smack with a belt.

She was done being his victim.

From now on, she was nobody's plaything.

"We should get together sometime," he commented, grinning like a dirty minded teenager.

When she shot him a glare, chanting even louder, his face grew serious, taking on the look of mock hurt.

"Please, baby, give me another chance. I've changed. Really. This time will be different. We could go to couples counseling. I hear it really helps. I'll do anything for you."

"Oh, ye _will,"_ Rowena said as she finished up the spell, addressing him for the first time in months.

She thought it would be harder, but, strangely, talking to him was easy. Too easy for a witch that was brutalized by the man standing still before her, grinning like the maniac he was. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was paralyzed and about to be locked up where he belonged. Or maybe her new family's presence gave her courage she didn't even know she possessed.

She hoped it was the former, but deep down she knew the latter was true. She was stronger now, more powerful than ever, and she owed it all to them. They were the ones who took care of her, encouraged her, and supported her. It was their words that gave her strength, that made her keep fighting the darkness that Lucifer had instilled in her.

"She speaks!"

"Thought ye've silenced me?" she said bitterly.

"That was never my intention. You know how I liked it when you screamed," he purred.

Rowena swallowed, pushing back the dread that rushed through her body like a bad high, opting to gather her courage back up instead. She was still here, stronger than ever. She had people who cared about her, who wanted her to live, to be safe and happy. She had a future she intended to make the best of.

She had everything, and he had nothing.

Lucifer might have won the battle, but she was the one who won the war.

"And when you begged…" he continued, giggling like a kid who just got his desired Christmas present. "My, my, my. It was…" He clicked his tongue, then, again, purred: "Delicious."

Rowena simply stared, her face stoic, devoid of all emotions. She could do it, she told herself. She could beat him. He wouldn't bring her down. Never again.

"Can you do it once more?" He pouted. "One more little _'no, please',"_ a poor, dramatic imitation of her accent, "for daddy? Would you do it for me, Wena? Pretty please?"

She took a step towards him, locking her eyes with his, her pointed glare proud, fiery, powerful. "Rot in Hell, Lucifer," she spat, then raised her hands up, her eyes never once leaving his, and hissed in a cold, deadly tone: _"Abite!"_

Lucifer's smile faded in an instant, all color draining from his face as a bright, purple light engulfed his body, clinging to his skin like licking flames. A loud, piercing shriek tore from his throat; immersed in light, his body sizzled, the foul smell of burning flesh flaring through the air as the burning brightness swallowed him whole.

As the light died down, a pinch of grayish-black ash settled on ground, amidst it a lone, long feather charred at its pearl-white tips.

For a long moment Rowena just stared, taking in the scene before her. Then, as realization that he was, after all this time, finally back in his cage, locked up for good, settled in, she let out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a few seconds and taking in deep, calming breaths.

It was over. He was gone now, forever away from her, never to touch her again. Never to approach her, taunt her, or mock her. Never to hurt her.

He was just gone, and gone he would stay till the end of time.

She was, after months of fearing for her safety, finally free.

She only realized she was trembling when a hand fell atop her shoulder, giving it a gentle, friendly pat. "You okay?" Dean asked concernedly, looking deep into her eyes in search of pain.

Instead, it was pure and utter joy that greeted him.

"Aye." Rowena nodded, pulling on a big, happy smile. "Never better."

* * *

 **This was a fun little story. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **I would love to thank my wonderful friends for helping me with grammar and basically putting up with my annoying questions about it. You guys rock! I couldn't do this without you!**


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